


Nothing Will Come Of Nothing

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Walker is dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Will Come Of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kumquat Weekend

 

 

And he's kneeling before you, the white-haired man, with duct tape over his mouth and eyes so you can't hear him when he screams when you stab him and stab him and stab him.

Because he hurt your brother, he locked him him his trunk and made him starve and sweat and cry and wait to die for days, and he deserves it.

And you didn't get the chance to get your punches in when he was alive.

Or whatever.

Because you don't like to think about that whole thing.

But this is very simple, you and the knife and blood all over until he looks like Santa Claus, red and white.

And you hook your knife and his heart is lying on the ground, the pale ground--the white ground?

What kind of ground is white?

And you look around and you're on a featureless plain and you realize you must be dreaming. And just like that, you're aware of yourself.

"This is retarded," you say. "You're a dream, right? I'm not actually going to hurt you."

He is slumped on the ground, beating red blood in a pool around his body. He doesn't answer, due to the duct tape.

You turn your back and walk away. You're ready to wake up. Instead, you smack face-first into a wall.

The plain is an optical illusion. You're in a *room* in Dream's castle or something. You press your left hand to your nose and trail your right against the wall and ten steps later, you find a door, so you open it.

You walk out of a shed into a vast green lawn. In one direction, there's a yellow sun and a bunch of kids flying kites. In the other direction, there's a green sun and some five-foot weasels on their hind legs playing croquet. Behind you--you walk around the shed, which is only about four feet but four--there's three guys at a card table playing cards. One of them has a pumpkin for a head.

"We need a fourth," Pumpkinhead is saying. "Poker is no good with three guys."

"'Specially when one of them ain't too bright," says the second guy, who has blue skin.

"Nah, that part I like," Pumpkinhead says, slapping the third guy on the back. The third guy--who looks like a regular guy and is dressed in a jumpsuit like a janitor or something--smiled widely.

"Hey," you say, walking over, "deal me in?"

Pumpkinhead looks up and his eyebrows--which are slits in his pumpkin--waggle. "Sure, toots. I like a card-playing dame," he says.

He deals you in. You wouldn't mind waking up, but this is a decent dream. "I'm Merv. This is Bob. That's Sherkerman," Pumpkinhead says. "Ante up!"

You play for spare change that you find in your pocket. Sherkerman wins the hand with a straight and Pumpkinhead gives him a gourdy glare. "Beginner's luck," Pumpkinhead says.

"I been playing this game for 65 years, man and tadpole, boss," Sherkerman says.

Pumpkinhead deals again. You ante until you're out of change--you have a pair of queens--and then you lose to Sherkerman again. "I guess I'm out," you say.

"I think this deck is funny," Pumpkinhead says, holding the cards to his eyeholes. Bob giggles.

You rest your cheek on your hand. "I wish I would wake up already," you say.

Sherkerman and Pumpkinhead both look at you. "You're a dreamer?" Sherkerman says.

"Aw, *balls.* Not again!"

"The boss isn't going to like that, boss," Sherkerman says to Pumpkinhead.

Pumpkinhead waves his gloves at you. They flop around like they're empty. "Quick! Hide!"

"Why? I'm not scared of your boss. I've met him." You fold your arms.

"You don't have to be scared of me."

Pumpkinhead falls out of his chair. Behind him, there's one of the kids from the lawn, brilliant green kite in his hand. He has white hair and empty black eyes. You know who he is. "I am not so terrible," says the King of Dreams.

"I'm sorry, boss, she just showed up!" Pumpkinhead says.

"I know. Will you walk with me, Rose?" The King of Dreams looks hopeful, although a smile does not cross his face.

"I..." You want to refuse, kick it in his face--he tried to *kill* you and did kill your grandmother or *something* like that, it's all faded in your head--but he's so... little. "I guess."

He hands you his kite and you walk with him. On the croquet court, the weasels are arguing over a red ball in French. One hits the other with a mallet and cartoon stars fly from the impact.

"You left your dream," says the King of Dreams.

"I didn't like it."

"But it was yours. You made it. You seized it and insisted that I send you that creature and that knife." He looks up at you with his empty black hole eyes.

"I did not." But his eyes pin you and make you unsure. "I didn't *think* I did."

"You did."

You look down at your feet. You're suddenly aware of your body... you look like you did when you first met him for a second, but then you waver and you're hugely pregnant, just like in real life.

"I could have denied you the dream, but I didn't, and you have taken it night after night," says the King of Dreams. "But you don't want it? I don't understand."

"Don't you understand everything about dreams?"

"No. The old me didn't try to understand people, just to observe them. And I'm still young. There's a lot I don't know."

You stroke your belly, seeing the child inside. The King of Dreams is a sweet-faced boy in a white kimono, utterly different from the man you saw before, but you can see the man in the child and the child in the man. It's like looking at your ultrasound and seeing the baby in the blobs. Like a Rorschach picture. "I guess I must have had a reason," you say.

The wind blows around you and you let the kite fly. The King of Dreams stands beside you and watches the brilliant kite solemnly.

"I'm going to have the baby really soon," you say.

"Yes, that's what she told me."

"It's a girl?" You cover your mouth. "I didn't want to know."

"She loves you. She wants to see you soon."

You touch your stomach again. "She doesn't know how good she has it right now. She's *safe*--"

"Yes, but she must be born."

"Crap," you say. You get it. You understand. "I'm killing that guy because he's a symbol of all the danger in the world because I'm worried about my baby being born."

"Do you think so?"

"This is why I hate dreams! You couldn't just tell me that flat-out instead of doing this cryptic bullshit?" You tug on the kite string angrily.

"I didn't know until you told me," says the King of Dreams.

You roll your eyes. You would feel bad for yelling at a little kid, except that you know he's not really a child. "I'm ready to wake up now," you say.

"You are welcome here. All people are." The King of Dreams accepts his kite from you.

You walk back to the shed and bang open the door. The Corinthian is still lying gagged on the vast, featureless plain, but all his blood and organs are back where they belong. "I'm done with killing you," you say, "not that you don't deserve it, but it doesn't take, and it's basically a big waste of time that I could use to dream about ponies."

You cross your arms and look at him. "So, that's it," you say, and you close your eyes.

And you wake up.

And you roll out of bed--you're huge, and the baby is coming soon, and you're *not ready* but it's going to happen anyway--and shuffle down the hall to your brother's room. You sit on the side of his bed and Jed's eyes jump open. He's always panicked, first thing.

"Hey, kid," you say. "Give us a hug."

"Okaaaaaaay," he says, but he does.

End.

 


End file.
